In His Hands
by timydamonkey
Summary: [One shot. Peter centric] There are two choices that can be made, and both basically amount to 'lose everything'. What do you do save your own life, or die to protect your friends? Either way, you know you're condemned.


In His Hands:

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Disclaimer: Just in case it isn't obvious: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters within this fanfic, nor do I claim to do so.

Author's Note: Why did I write this? Because perhaps things aren't always black and white; perhaps Peter didn't just get up one day and go, "I think I'll go to Voldemort and sell out my friends," as some people seem to think.

And let's face it; if my interpretation of canon is correct, 95 of Peter haters would have done the exact same thing.

And apparently my version of Voldemort _really _likes the Cruciatus curse… And on re-reading, he's never noted by name. That was intentional, for effect… don't know what effect though, it goes WAY beyond me.

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He awoke to the feeling that his head was being stomped on by a herd of hippogriffs. He lay still for a moment, dazed and confused, letting the voices around him come into focus. 

"…You are nothing. You see, _Muggle, _your brand of filth was put around for one reason – to be exterminated!" There was a slight pause, and then he heard (or perhaps it was his imagination, he considered) the same voice hiss, "_Now!_"

"_Crucio!"_

At that one word he stopped feeling so light-headed and was just horrified; it had given him a rather good idea of where he was, or at least, whom he was with – and it wasn't company he liked to keep. In fact, it would be best if he got out of there right now –

The screaming started and he found himself unable to hide a wince at the sound of pure terror and pain. He wanted to run, he'd have to run, he didn't want to be tortured… But getting up to run, he knew, would be perfect motivation for the Death Eaters (for he was sure that was who they were) to curse him. With him being a member of the esteemed Order of the Phoenix, he felt he'd given them enough motivation to last for several years.

There had been Order members disappearing without a trace before, reappearing several days later, tortured to death. Peter felt that he was getting uncomfortably close to experiencing that kind of wrath firsthand. The thought was enough to make him tremble and he couldn't help but wonder how in the world it could be so _hot_…

The silence after screaming was absolute bliss, even if it only lasted for a few moments. Another voice spoke this time, the same words: "_Crucio!"_

It didn't sound like they'd be happy to finish any time soon. He forced his eyes open, trying to remain as still as possible and feign the position of unconsciousness. He was neither sure how successful he could be, nor for how long he could keep it up. The place looked a bit like a cavern in the dim light, and the Death Eaters themselves would have been swallowed had it been much darker. He could only just make out vague impressions of them, but even the slight glance was enough for him to recognize the Dark Lord…

_Oh, Merlin help me_, he thought hopelessly, staring in horror. He was so panicked at the sight of the feared Dark Lord, he knew that he had to do something, that he couldn't lie around waiting to die… but he wasn't stupid. He wasn't going to attack the Dark Lord; he knew it would prove fruitless. The best thing would be to run away.

He glanced around to see if he had any sort of guard, a person watching over him ready to curse him when they realized in the poor light that he was actually awake. He saw nobody. He supposed he didn't need a guard with the other Death Eaters around him, only having far too much fun to notice if he slipped away…

Maybe if he were lucky, they'd just forget that he'd been there. Even if not, it would help spectacularly just so long as he was long gone… But how could he get away?

All of a sudden, it came to him. _Wormtail, you're an idiot,_ he thought savagely. _Come on, I know you can do better than that…_ Double-checking that the Death Eaters were occupied, he transformed, a small crack being his only testament to it – or so he thought.

The room seemed to grow around him, and he found himself nosing at the floor then thinking damn the danger, he was in more danger if he stayed. And he ran, his feet pattering on the cold stone tiles. His heartbeat and the pattering seemed very loud; he thought nervously, what if they could hear him, what if…? No, no! He needed to concentrate on breaking out…

A sharp, angry hiss from the corner broke him out of his reverie and he froze, as did all sound in the room. _Snake._ Snakes _ate_ rats! Oh, this couldn't be good. Try as he might, he found it impossible to move. He was frozen in fear – his own, the rat's or a mixture, he wasn't sure. There was a little gentler hissing, and then he could hear the ragged panting of the Muggle once again, in the absence of screams. He felt a small amount of pity, but his self-preservation kicked in. It looked like he'd got away with it. Now if he could just _move…_

The Dark Lord seemed to be continuing his manic speech as if nothing happened. For a moment, he thought he'd got away with it and then – "…absolute _scum!_ Cowardice does not get you _anywhere_… especially not if you're a grimy little _rat_!"

The choice of wording was too much to be a coincidence, Peter knew. He didn't need the summoning charm that somebody had apparently cast to know that his chance of escape was screwed. He found himself hanging by his tail, suspended from somebody's fingers… staring upside down into a hard, cold but gleeful face. He couldn't help giving a terrified squeak.

_Bugger._

The Dark Lord opened his mouth and hissed in calling.

A humongous, poisonous-looking snake slithered to the side of him, looking very pleased with herself. Peter was shaking. Of all snakes he had to face… this one looked like she could perfectly easily eat a small human and still be hungry.

The Dark Lord dangled Peter in front of his face. "Now who are you and what are you doing here, little rodent?"

The only noise amongst the quiet was the heavy, desperate breathing that the Muggle was making. A moment later, Peter transformed back and was held upside down, staring into the face of the much-feared man for a moment, before he was dropped unceremoniously to the floor.

He didn't try and escape again. He knew that would be one of the few moves that were more of a death sentence than him being caught in the first place.

A wand was pointed at him again. "Peter Pettigrew," he said before realizing he had actually answered, which he hadn't intended on doing. He wasn't sure how to answer the second question – it hadn't been his decision to be dragged here. The Dark Lord watched him, seeming to ponder, and then nodded to himself.

"You are a member of the Order of the Phoenix." It wasn't a question.

"Yes."

He knew there was no point lying to somebody who already knew what they were asking.

It was funny, Peter thought; his nerves seemed to have gone. Perhaps he was in shock, not feeling anything in front of this one person who, it seemed, was quite mad but bent on crushing anybody who opposed him. It was this knowledge that made him feel a little hysterical; that this Dark Lord had just been standing around, letting other people do the dirty work for him: almost as if he didn't have the guts to do it himself.

He had to bite back a nervous laugh; yes, it seemed that he was definitely suffering from shock.

"You _dare_ to question me?" Peter looked up. The Dark Lord's eyes were narrowed in anger – but still at him. Too late, he realized he must have spoken aloud. "_Crucio._"

The pain of a thousand knives shot through him, savagely attacking every inch of his body. The pain was unbearable; the curse had hardly hit when he had succumbed to screams.

When it stopped, he panted, sucking in air raggedly, shaking and exhausted. His head felt like it was going to split in two: probably from having so much pressure concentrate on it. His vision swam and he found a cold hand suddenly gripping his chin and forcing him to look up into red eyes. "You are a daring and reckless fool," the Dark Lord said, "but you're even more pathetic, and you are attempting to interfere in my plans. Now whatever shall I do with you…?"

"…My Lord?"

The Dark Lord turned and snarled, "I do not believe that I invited anybody to address me. _Crucio._" When the follower's screams ended, he hissed, "Do not speak out of turn."

"My Lord, forgive me," the Death Eater rasped, his voice a little shaky, but he didn't seem to want to let it be known just how hurt he was, "but Pettigrew is Potter's friend."

Peter squinted at the Death Eater. With his vision affected at the moment, there was no way that he could see who it was, but the voice seemed slightly familiar. They'd have to be, he thought, if they knew his friendship circle.

"Ah, the Potters… one who could be with the _would-be saviour_," the Dark Lord sneered, and in that moment, Peter knew for certain that they were all doomed. "A hand within their circle would be most… useful."

"What! You want me to-" Peter's protests died on his lips at the look that the Dark Lord gave him.

"You will do it… or you will die. We can get others to spy on them for us, after all. Do you accept this… proposal?"

Peter knew he shouldn't give in to them – he could die, but that way the safety of his friends wasn't compromised. In fact, if the prophecy was to be believed, the whole world could be completely compromised.

But he didn't want to die. Besides, he thought, if he died, who was to say it would make things safer? What if the Dark Lord turned on one of the others – Sirius or Remus? Would his death be in vain?

He knew that he could die with honour, protecting his friends from a man who seemed prepared to go out and kill a baby, yes, but would that protection be certain? A traitor could turn from any other corner…

Or he could join the Dark Lord and prevent others being in his predicament. He could be a traitor to stop others having to make such a decision… and hopefully manage to dissuade people from letting anything important fall on his head.

Peter knew he was twisting logic – but he knew that whatever he chose, he was condemned. He knew he'd lose everything. Die or be as good as dead to those you care about… What sort of choice was _that_?

_He didn't want to die._

Choose to die and watch further manipulation. Choose to live and watch the consequences of your actions unfold. Peter felt like he was being asked to lay heads on a slaughter block.

Had he time to think about it, maybe he would have made a different decision. Maybe he could have sacrificed himself and things would have been so much better – but life is far too uncertain to have regrets.

With a man standing in front of him, pointing a very deadly weapon at him, watching time tick away as his thoughts came crashing down, there was no decision to be made. There was no choice.

Forcing himself onto his knees, still shaking with pain from the Cruciatus, he stared hard at the ground and whispered, "…I accept."

As soon as he said it, he knew it was the biggest mistake he'd ever made. He'd made their coffins and laid them in them, awaiting a death sentence they had no control over.

And he knelt there, just waiting for the walls to collapse and tear him apart.

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Author's Note: Yay, I'm back! Sorry, been busy doing exams and all - I've been writing this for two months. I've had unbelievable problems getting what I wanted written down on the page. 

Also, apologies if the end is a little... rough. It just wouldn't come smoothly at all.

I won't make promises on when I'll update, but I'll definitely finish Amnesia. I've been busy and I'm swarmed with fic ideas in another fandom... so I'll still be writing. Please, review- I appreciate every one I get.


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